A Raging Inferno
by walkingwithgiants
Summary: Companion to "A Smokeless Fire" one-shot. As a kid, Bella Swan had idolized Edward Cullen, the soccer superstar. As an adult... things changed. One-shot. Read ASF first.


**Hey doves. Here's the companion of "A Smokeless Fire." You do have to read that one first so that this one will make sense. This will probably be my last update for a couple weeks, so enjoy! And thanks so much for reading and rec'ing ASF so much! xoxo, Mariana**

**P.S. To those who have written me lately, I promise I'm writing everyone back. It's just taking me a while. 333**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but Coachward is mine!**

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I looked at him—the man who had made me cry in the safety of my shower more times than I could count. "You're sure?"

The brightest green eyes I'd ever seen peered at me like I'd lost my damn mind. Like the man with the glowing, apple colored eyes couldn't believe my hesitation. Couldn't believe that I was asking for reassurance. "Of course," he answered in a steady voice.

His large hand pulled me through the crowd, pulling me after his broad back. I caught Jasper and Alice looking at me with huge, goofy smiles as I passed by them. I barely had enough time to give them a little wave.

In hindsight, I should've been glad that I'd been prepared to look nice, not necessarily for him…but mainly just in case I saw him at the party. Not that I was _really_ expecting it but a niggling little idea keep chirping at me throughout the day. It kept telling me to _try_. To put on that new pair of lace boyshorts I'd bought a couple days before. To put on that matching bra.

Edward turned to look at me over his shoulder when we were close to the door, shooting me a nervous smile that made me lose my breath.

I made Edward Cullen nervous.

I.

Made.

Edward freaking Cullen.

Nervous.

Edward Cullen, who had been my idol since I was seven years old. I couldn't remember the first game my Dad made me watch that he played in. I couldn't remember the exact moment in his career that made me go, "That's what I want to do the rest of my life." I just remember being in love with his game. His talent. I clearly remember looking at the television with my Dad in my early teens and thinking that I wanted to be just like Edward Cullen when I was older.

Dad had looked at me from his spot on the recliner and smiled. "You're gonna be better than Edward Cullen, Pumpkin."

I was going to be better than Edward Cullen.

So I spent thousands of hours on the field trying to make that happen. Most of those hours were spent with my Dad, proving to him that I could do it. I guess it was a good thing that I didn't have any interest in boys, or care about my clothes getting dirty, and getting bruises over every square inch of my body like most other girls did. The only two things I loved were my Dad and soccer. They were the only things I had time for, and the only two things that I made sure to make time for.

Now, soccer was the only thing I had to squeeze in.

"C'mon, baby," Edward murmured into my ear, pulling me into the cab that he'd somehow hailed in the blink of an eye.

I slid in, watching him as he followed after me, pressing that long, muscular build against mine. His arm slipped over my shoulder as he angled into me, smothering me with his wide chest. Those gem colored eyes were heavy as he watched me sink into his side.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, sliding his free hand down my bare thigh slowly. The rough calluses on his fingertips brushed over my kneecap, down the line of my shin and the swell of my calf. He squeezed the muscle lightly.

I shivered, arching my back without even realizing it. What seemed funny to me was that he said I was beautiful, but Edward was the beautiful one. The one that made my chest tighten. The one who's face both seemed to be able to make me cry and within days, make me feel like I was living a dream.

It wasn't a surprise to me or anyone else on the team that he'd hated me with a passion that I used to joke only rivaled his love for soccer. I never really knew what I'd done to make him be such a dick to me, but I'd shrugged it off. After I'd met a couple of the really popular men's players, my expectations for all of the great ones personalities plummeted. They were all self-centered. Greedy. And they thought that the world shined out of their asses. I swore to myself that I'd never be that person. Dad wouldn't have wanted that for me.

"Jesus Christ, Swan, did you break his MVP trophy or what?" Volturi had asked me one day when we'd been making our way toward the locker room.

Coach had just finished screaming at me about my uselessness at passing. "It's worthless!" he'd screamed.

But I'd taken it as him telling me that _I _was worthless.

It was one of the hundreds of times he'd ripped me a new one for things that he didn't get on anyone else's case about, despite the fact that they were just as bad off as I was, if not more so. Alice had even started calling me PB for Punching Bag. I was Coach Cullen's punching bag. But I took it silently. Because what was the point in throwing a fit?

I wanted to be the best and until I worked out every kink to my game—which would never happen—I could never achieve that goal. And who would be better to get me there than the man who had inspired me so many years before? No one.

When he'd scream, I told myself it was an honor to be trained by a legend. It was a rite of passage to be called "lazy" and "slow as fuck" by the best soccer player to ever come out of North America. He made me better.

Even if he made me cry some nights when my body hurt so badly I had to limp to bed. It was only when I was in the shower that I let things sink in, but I only cried over the physical pain. The names. The sharp edges of his words and dirty looks. The sting of his huffs when he was frustrated with me. It was nothing. A sacrifice. I'd gotten called worse by lesser people. Sure it only happened a few times. I only stood under the spray and let silent tears come out to make me feel human, but it was enough. It was what I needed to keep going. To keep inspiring me to better my game.

I'd tell myself it was fine. I'd tell myself that I didn't need everyone to like me. That I didn't need Edward Cullen to respect me as long as he molded me into what I wanted to become.

The handful of times that I'd caught him in the pool, I'd run away like a coward. Not wanting more whips to my emotional back than what I'd already received in the hours before. I left him.

But after a handful of times, his bland expressions started shifting. They warped into frustration, confusion, and even anger. When he asked me why I left when he'd get there, I didn't want to tell him the truth, but I did.

"Bella," he drawled in a husky voice, sucking me out of my memories from weeks before. His hand crawled back up my leg and onto my thigh, slowly slinking up the tight material of my black dress to caress the skin there. Edward squeezed the meaty, muscular part of my hamstring before shifting me forward on the seat so that his hand could slide even deeper into the confines of my dress.

I hissed when the tips of his fingers grazed my bare ass, dipping under the lace of my underwear. He moaned deep in his chest as his mouth covered mine. Hot, wet lips grazed over my parted ones as he gripped my leg tightly. It was endless. His full mouth was the Pacific Ocean of feeling; it was huge and dark, and wide, and so, so easy to get lost in it. The little noises he was making sucked me out into his ocean even deeper.

He pulled away from me for a minute, swiping his hot tongue over my lip as the position of his hand switched so that he could reach to grip the width of my thigh, pulling it apart. "I can't fucking wait to finally get a little taste of that wet pussy," he said against my skin, pressing those perfect, straight white teeth flat into my neck. Edward dragged his lips and teeth over the curve of my jaw, and then down the column of my throat where he paused and bit me gently.

My hips shifted forward in the seat on their own, searching for his hand, for his groin, anything and everything, while he moved his mouth down to bite me where my neck and shoulder connected. "Edward."

The hand that had been on top of my thigh slid up and under my dress so fast, I didn't even get a chance to mentally prepare myself for his thumb brushing over the seam of my pussy through my underwear. His mouth covered mine again, sucking my bottom lip between his as his finger grazed over the material covering my clit. Edward made a noise in his throat as he slipped one of his fingers under my panties to graze flatly against my lips with the back of his digit. Once, Twice. Three times. I knew I was wet, really fucking wet, but I could find it in me to be embarrassed by how turned on I was.

He brushed my pussy one last time, sliding his finger out of my underwear before he wrapped his lips around his glistening fingers. Those green eyes were locked on mine while he licked his index and middle finger slowly. A smile crept across his perfect, chiseled face. "I'm going to need another taste, Bella," he murmured so quietly, I'm sure only I could hear him. Edward licked his fingers once more. "Or twenty."

As soon as the taxi pulled up the hotel, I felt Edward yank my dress down my legs right before tossing a couple bills at the cab driver. He linked his fingers through mine as he pulled me out of the cab and through the lobby of the hotel we were all staying at. The receptionist in the lobby shot me a dirty look while we walked toward the elevator. Her quick glances at Edward told me that she knew who he was, and that she thought the same thing every woman and some men did—Edward was gorgeous.

And he was gifted.

And even though he was an asshole, I'd seen those bits and pieces of his personality that told me he was much more than that. He was kind and funny, and even a little unsure of himself. The mighty Edward Cullen was just as lonely as I was, only he didn't accept it like I did. He wasn't pushed into it like I was.

I hadn't realized it until he started coming to my room right after my concussion. He was the last person I expected to stay at the hospital with me. And he was most definitely the absolute last person I would've thought to come running onto the field when the big Swedish girl decided to try and knock my head off my shoulders.

"Baby angel," Edward whispered, pressing me up against the wall of the elevator the moment we stepped inside. While I wasn't exactly short at five-foot-six, he towered over me easily at six-foot-three. I couldn't really remember very clearly what he looked like when I was younger, whether the tanned lines on his face had always been so pronounced or whether they were more noticeable now that he could afford to scowl when things didn't go his way.

Unfortunately for everyone that wasn't Edward Cullen, I thought he'd gotten more attractive the older he got.

And after I'd seen him time and time again shirtless at the pool, I knew that men—or rather boys by comparison—half his age didn't hold a candle to the defined lines of his chest and abs. It was as if the gods themselves had created someone out of their own flesh and image.

He leaned down to fuse his soft lips to mine, kissing me gently. His hands gripped my hips loosely, thumbs pressing into my bones. "Are you positive you want this?" he asked me. Edward's eyes searched mine. "I'm so much older than you, baby."

I shrugged, giving him a lazy smile before kissing him chastely. "I already told you that I don't care."

"I just want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into," he murmured, brushing a finger over my bottom lip.

"What exactly is that?"

Edward made a humming noise deep in his throat, eyeing me carefully with heavy green eyes. "I have a feeling once I'm burying my cock in your pussy, I won't be letting you go."

There was something so naughty and vulgar about his words that made me so hot. I didn't care that I felt like he was speaking the truth. Like I was signing away some part of myself to this man who claimed everything and nothing.

In what felt like a moment later, we were in his room and he was pulling my dress over my head, dragging his tongue and teeth over the swells of my breasts. He sucked my nipples over the thin material of my bra as his hand jerked my underwear down past knees. Edward palmed my pussy, groaning deeply as he pulled the material of my bra to the down to suck on my nipple without any barriers.

"You're so wet." His fingers grazed over my lips before spreading them gently. Edward groaned, walking us over to the big chair in the corner of the room. He sat down first before sitting me on his lap with my back to his chest, tossing each of my legs over his own spread knees. Kisses peppered my neck, alternating between brushes of his tongue. "Baby girl," he murmured, smoothing his rough hands over the inside of my thighs. Each pass was longer, slower, reminding me that I was spread wide open to the cool hotel room air. The simple, easy motions alone made me wet with anticipation. The fact that he wasn't rushing this was straight electricity in my veins. "So soft, you know that?"

My voice was a million miles away so I shook my head instead.

Edward made a soft murmuring noise against my ear as he smoothed over and over my thighs. With a high pass of his right hand, he detoured to slide the meaty part of his palm over my clit before slipping his middle finger deep inside of me.

"Edward!"

His answer was a groan right into my ear, hot breath fanning over me. That finger moved in and out of me slowly, letting his palm press tightly against me on each downward stroke. "Bella? How many guys have you let into this tight, little pussy?" he asked, hooking his finger inside me while he pulled out.

I moaned before stammering, "What?"

Another finger worked its way into me slowly. "I want to know how many other guys I'm going to need to make you forget about," he hissed, pressing those two digits inside of me as deep as they would go. "Goddamn it..."

Holy shit!

I whimpered as he curled his long fingers in me. "Just one!" I cried when he started moving his fingertips in quick circles over what I could only assume was my g-spot.

"Just one, baby?"

My hips were squirming to meet with his movement. It was too much, but I still wanted more. "Yes." I couldn't find it in me to tell him that the only man I'd ever been with was my high school boyfriend five years before. I wasn't experienced by any means, but I knew he was. It took all of my self-control to push that thought aside. I didn't need to think about the other women I'd seen him photographed with years before.

There'd been a lot of them.

But it was me right here. Right now.

"You are so goddamn wet. You're dripping down my fucking fingers, Bella. Soaking my fucking pants." His pelvis bucked into my ass, letting me feel a long, thick length pressed against me. After a few more slow passes, his hand started jerking in me quickly, fingers pressed into that one magical spot so tightly I was gasping for air.

"Oh my God!"

"You like that?" he asked, earning a tiny nod. Edward tongue lapped at my neck once more before pursing his lips on one area, sucking roughly. The wet sound of him moving in and out of me quickly filled his room. Edward grunted, moving his fingers even faster, making me cry out even louder at the strange, euphoric feeling that was starting in my pussy. "I want you all over my fucking hand, baby. I know you can do it." He sucked harder on my throat.

I couldn't catch my breath. I'd been running miles and miles every day since I was a kid. My stamina was pretty much spectacular, but with his fingering and his g-spot pressing, I couldn't even think of whether this was heaven or not. When the tingling in my pussy started heightening, I arched against him and gasped.

Out of nowhere, the most explosive, hot orgasm of my life took over my entire body, blinding me, making me cry hoarsely to some god I didn't know existed.

Edward was grunting behind me, bucking his lean hips into me. "Oh, baby, baby, baby girl," he cooed, nuzzling my neck.

I was panting, my pussy throbbing violently around his fingers. "Oh shit."

He made a humming noise in his throat before closing his legs and mine in one movement. His fingers slipped out of me before shifting my body so that I was boneless and sideways across his lap. I could hear him breathing loudly as his mouth dropped down to mine, kissing me sweetly on the lips. He pressed once, twice, and then a third time before his tongue gently explored past my lips and into my mouth. His wet hand cupped my shoulder before pulling down on one bra strap.

Our slow, deep kisses of tongue on tongue went in time with the different destinations his hands took until he reached the back of my bra. Edward was unsnapping it with one hand, and then easing the cups away from me and throwing the bra God knows where. He sucked on my tongue while his hand drew lazy circles on my bare spine.

Right around the same time that I could feel his breathing even out, his mouth pulled away from mine. Those heavy, beautiful green eyes were on me, searching my face, my neck, and then down to my chest, stomach, and bare hips. Edward shook his head while licking his lips. The back of his hand caressed my shoulder before making its way over my breast and nipple. He hummed, brushing the back of his fingers over my nipple again. "Gorgeous."

I felt my face heat up under his intense scrutiny. Those eyes were like lasers, scanning over every inch of my exposed skin—everything. But his hands were gentle and slow as they caressed me, brushing over the many, tiny and nearly invisible scars I had on my thighs and knees from years of playing on the field.

Edward must have known that because he rubbed over me more reverently, squeezing my thighs in his big hands. "Every inch of this pretty skin is perfect, Bella baby." He slid his hands up my quads and over my hip bone. Cupping one of my breasts, he rubbed a thumb over my nipple. "Even your pretty titties were made to be sucked on," he glanced up at me from under heavy eyelashes, "by only my mouth."

The hand cupping my breast brought it up to his face and in a heartbeat his lips were sucking my nipple roughly. His hand kneaded my hip.

It all kind of went up in flames right then. I started grounding my hips into his hard thigh, and at some point he picked me up and dropped me onto the middle of the bed. His body was spread over mine as I unbuttoned his shirt and threw it behind us. Edward Cullen shirtless was probably the most magnificent thing I'd ever seen. His skin was tight and hot as I smoothed my palms over his pecs while he nipped at my neck. My hands were moving like they'd unbuckled hundreds of belts in the past and unbuttoned dozens of pants before Edward hovered above me.

In the blink of an eye, we'd pushed his pants off his hips and I was cupping his huge hard-on through the thin material of his black boxer briefs. Edward's wet mouth kissed me down my chest as he kicked his boxers down his legs.

His long cock bobbed in the air, a deep shade of pink and red and purple as he kneeled over me. In his full glory, Edward was rippled lines of muscle, a hard, thick cock, and strong, muscular thighs that told me a story about what his secret weapon had been when becoming the best soccer player in the United States.

He was perfect.

"Are you on birth control?" he whispered after dropping down to his elbows to cage me between his corded biceps.

I pressed my mouth against his, sucking on that full bottom lip. "Yes."

He groaned, kissing me back with vigor before dragging his mouth over to suck on my earlobe. His cock was heavy on the inside of my thigh, that blunt head grazing my pussy lips. "I haven't been with anyone since before the Cup," he said softly.

I knew what he was telling me. We'd all been tested for everything under the moon before being allowed to join the team, even afterward, we were so busy there's no way he could've been with anyone else. Either way, I believed him when he told me that. God knows that there was nothing for him to worry about.

His hips surged upward, rubbing his length over the seam of my lips and I arched upward, loving the feeling of his hot, soft skin on me. Wrapping my legs loosely around his thighs must have been enough because he was smiling, dropping those narrow hips between my legs.

Edward kissed me deep, his tongue against mine as he aligned himself with me. Inch by inch he slid into me, his thick cock stretching me wide. He groaned louder than I did, as he had to work himself deep in me. "Mother fuck," he grunted, looking down.

I couldn't help but look down at us too. Edward rocked into me, kissing me softly as he finally slid in to the hilt. He pulled out completely before pushing in deep again.

His hand cupped my cheek., palming it possessively. Those green eyes were filled with something I couldn't recognize. He fucked me harder, his strokes were slow and rough. Emerald eyes locked on my brown ones constantly. I could see his jaw clenched with each push.

Rough, slow strokes of his big cock had me coming in no time. He groaned so loudly I'm sure anyone in a room close by could have heard him. Edward was biting his cheek and groaning, going even deep in me than I thought possible as my pussy started milking that long, luxurious length.

"You remember what I told you?" he asked me in a hoarse voice.

I couldn't remember my own name.

His smile was wicked and smothered in lust. "You're all mine, little girl."

All his.

As the years passed between us, Edward let me know that I was his.

When I moved to Washington to play professionally, he went with me.

When I played internationally, he used his connections to go too.

When some guy asked me if I was still dating Edward Cullen, he asked me to marry him.

And after I married him, he started wearing my jerseys with our last name on it to every game.

A year after we were married, when my team won the World Cup for me, my Dad, and Edward—he was the first person I thought of.

The mighty Edward Cullen was glassy-eyed and flushed when I jumped on him in the tunnel.

And when he had me pressed against the wall hours later, with his wet thighs and my pussy sucking his cock dry, I was reminded of his ownership so long before. The man who had everything, had given me what I wanted the most. Someone that I'd make time for over what I'd dedicated my life to.

"I love you so fucking much," he moaned into my ear as he came.

I kissed his forehead, his nose, his mouth, as he impaled me on his long shaft once more. "I love you, too."

He kept me there for a minute longer as he caught his breath. Pressing his forehead to the top of my head, he whispered, "You're my pride and joy, baby girl."

It wasn't his money, his trophies, or even his legacy that he prided himself on. It was me.


End file.
